
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

©{jnji.TZ_b(lDin|ric^t Iftt. 

Shelf.. .14.9.^ "| T j 

— 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


I 


J 4 


l . 

• " V. v 


'&ct- lit? 



# 








































































' ■ 

■ 

' 














































































1 






























































































































• * 



































































































































































































































# 















































































Three Stories 




/THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


/HOW DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON 
WHITNEY CELEBRATED NEW 
YEARS. 


yTHE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


W. H. H. MURRAY. 



Copyright 1889 by W. H. H. Murray. 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 


Electrotyped and Printed by 
C. W. Calkins .& Co., 52 Purchase Street, Boston. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


I. “I am a Busted ex-Texan” 

II. “ Practically Inside the Pail.” 

III. “And when I Came Down.” 

IV. “Lay Aboard of the Old Cuss.” 
V. “Luff Her Up — Luff Her Up.” 

VI. The Deacon and Parson. 

VII. The Race. 


VIII. 


The First Prize for the Wickedest Cow . 







' 


■ 










V ■* 



\ 




Jt 
















































THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 



‘ E were camped amid the foot- 
hills on the trail which led up 
to the Kicking Elorse Pass. 
The sun had already passed 
from sight, beyond the white summits above us, 
and the shadow of the monstrous mountain range 
darkened the prairie to the east, to the horizon’s 
rim. Our bivouac was made in a grove of 
lofty firs, six or eight in number ; and a little 
rivulet, trickling from the upper slopes, fell, 
with soft, lapsing sound, within a few feet of 
our camp-fire. We did not even pitch a tent, 
for the sky was mild, and above us the mon- 
strous trees lifted their protecting canopy of 
stems. The hammocks were swung for the 
ladies, and each gentleman “ preempted ” the 
claim that suited him best, by depositing his 


5 


6 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


blanket and rifle upon it. The entire party 
were in the best of spirits, and nature re- 
sponded to our happiness in its kindest mood. 
Laughter sounded pleasantly at intervals from 
the busy groups, each working at some self- 
appointed industry. The hum of cheerful con- 
versation mingled with the murmurs of the 
brook ; and now and then the snatch of some 
sweet song would break from tuneful lips, 
brief, spirited, melodious as a bobolink’s, dash- 
ing upward from the clover- heads. And before 
the mighty shadow lying gloomily on the great 
prairie plain, which stretched eastward for a 
thousand miles, had grown to darkness, the 
active, happy workers had given to the bivouac 
that look of designed orderliness which a 
trained party always give to any spot they 
select in which to make a camp or pass a 
night. An hour before, there was nothing to 
distinguish that grove of trees, or the ground 
beneath them, from any other spot or hill within 
the reach of eye. But now it commanded the 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


7 


landscape ; and, had you been trailing over the 
vast plain, the bright firelight, the group of 
men and women moving to and fro, the pick- 
eted horses, the fluttering bits of color here 
and there, would have caught your gaze ten 
miles away ; and were you tired or hungry; 
or even lonesome, you would have naturally 
turned your horse’s head toward that camp 
as toward a cheerful reception and a home ; 
for wherever is happy human life, to it all 
lonely life is drawn as by a magnet. 

And this was demonstrated by our experi- 
ence then and there. For, scarcely had we 
done with supper, — and by this time the gloom 
had grown to darkness, and the half-light of 
evening held the landscape, — when out of the 
semi-gloom there came a call, — the call of a 
man hailing a camp. Indeed, we were not sure 
he had not hailed several times before we 
heard him ; for, to tell the truth, we were a 
very merry crowd, and as light of heart as if 
there was not a worry or care in all the world, 


8 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


— at least for us, — and the smallest spark of 
a joke exploded us like a battery. Indeed, so 
rollicking was our mood that our laughter was 
nearly continuous, and it is quite possible that 
the stranger may have hailed .us more than 
once without our hearing him. And this was 
the more likely because the man’s voice was 
not of the loudest, nor was it positive in the 
energy of its appeal. 

Indeed, there was a certain feebleness or 
timidity in the stranger’s hail, as if he was 
mistrustful that any good fortune could respond 
to him, and, hence, deprecated the necessity 
of the resort. But hear him we did at last, 
and he was greeted with a chorus of voices 
to “ Come in ! Come in ! You’re welcome ! ” 
And partly because we had finished our repast, 
and partly from courtesy and the natural 
promptings of gentlefolk to give a visitor 
courteous greeting, we all arose and received 
him standing. And, certainly, had the kindly 
act been unusual with us, not one of our group 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


9 


would have regretted the extra condescension 
bestowed upon him at his coming, after he 
had entered the circle of our firelight, and we 
saw the expression of his features. 

What a mirror the human face is ! Looking 
into it, how we behold the soul, the accidents 
that have befallen it and the disappointments 
it has borne ! Are not the faces of men as 
carved tablets on which we read the records of 
their lives ? The face of childhood is smoothly 
beautiful, like a white page on which neither 
with ink of red or black has any pen drawn 
character. But, as the years go on, the pen 
begins to move and the fatal tracery to grow, 
— that tracery which means and tells so much. 
And the face of this man, — this waif, so to 
speak, — this waif that had come to us from 
the stretch of the prairie, whose southern line 
is the southern gulf ; this stranger, who had 
come so suddenly to the circle of our light, and 
so plaintively sought admission to its comfort 
and its cheer, was a face which one might read 


IO 


THE BUSTED EX -TEXAN. 


at a glance. Not one in our circle that did 
not instantly feel that he embodied some over- 
whelming calamity. A look of sadness, of a 
mild, continuous sorrow, overspread his face. 
There was a pitiful expression about the mouth, 
as if brave determination had withdrawn its 
lines from it forever. From his eyes a certain 
mistrustfulness looked forth, — not mistrustful- 
ness of others, but of himself, — as if confi- 
dence in his own powers had received an 
overwhelming shock. The man’s appearance 
made an instant and unmistakable impression 
upon the entire company. The ladies — God 
bless their sweet and sympathetic natures ! — 
were profoundly moved at the pitiful aspect 
of our guest. Their bosoms thrilled with sym- 
pathy for one upon whose devoted head evil 
fortune had so evidently emptied its quiver. 
Nor were our less sensitive masculine natures 
untouched by his forlorn appearance. 

^ “A target for evil fortune,” whispered Dick 
x kq the major. 

* 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. I I 

“A regular bull’s-eye ! ” was the solemn 
response. “ A bull’s-eye, by gad ! at the end 
of the score.” 

It was not a poetic expression. I wish the 
reader to note that I do not record it as such. 
I only preserve it as evidence of the major’s 
humanity, and of the unaffected sympathy for 
the stranger, which at that moment filled all 
hearts. 

Naturally, as it can well be imagined, the 
gayety of our company had been utterly checked 
by the coming of our sad guest. In the pres- 
ence of such a wreck of human happiness, 
perhaps of human hope, what person of any 
sensibility could maintain a lightsome mood ? 
Had it not been for one peculiarity, — a pecul- 
iarity, I am confident, all of us observed, — the 
depression of our spirits would have been as 
profound as it was universal. This peculiarity 
was the stranger’s appetite. This, fortunately, 
had remained unimpaired, — an oasis in the 
Sahara of his life. 


12 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


“The one remnant left him from the wreck 
of his fortunes,” whispered Dick. 

“ A perfect remnant ! ” returned the major, 
sententiously. 

For myself, acting as host to this appetite, 
and being naturally of a philosophic turn, I 
watched its development with the keenest in- 
terest, not to say with a growing curiosity. 
“ Here is something,” I said to myself, 
“ that is unique. That fine law of recompense 
which is kindly distributed through the uni- 
verse finds here,” I reflected, “ a most instruc- 
tive and conclusive demonstration. Robbed, by 
an adverse fate, of all that made life agreeable, 
this man, this pilgrim of time, this wayfarer to 
eternity, this companion of mine on the road 
of life, has had bestowed upon him an extraor- 
dinary solace, has been permitted to retain a 
commensurate satisfaction. Surely, life cannot 
have lost its attractions for one whose stomach 
still preserves such aspirations.” And, prompted 
by the benevolence of my mood, and the antici- 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


13 


pations of a wise forecast, I collected in front 
of me whatever edibles remained on the table, 
that, if the supply of our hospitality should 
prove insufficient, the exhibition of its spirit 
should at least be conclusive. 

But, if the countenance of the stranger was of 
a most melancholy cast, there were not lacking 
hints that by nature he had been endowed with 
vivacity of spirit ; for, as he continued, with an 
industry which was remarkable, to refresh him- 
self, there were appearances, which came to 
the eye and the corners of his mouth, which 
made the observer conclude that he was not 
lacking the sense of humor ; and, if his experi- 
ence had been most unfortunate, there was in 
him an ability to appreciate the ludicrousness 
of its changeful situations. Indeed, one could 
but conclude that originally he must have been 
of a buoyant, not to say sanguine disposition ; 
and, if one could but prevail upon him to nar- 
rate the incidents of his life, they would be 
found to be most entertaining. 


14 THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 

It was something like an hour before our 
melancholy-looking guest had fully improved 
the opportunity with which a benignant Provi- 
dence had supplied him, — a freak in which, 
one might conclude, she seldom indulged. He 
ceased to eat, and sat for a moment gazing 
pensively at the dishes. It seemed to me — 
but in this I may possibly be mistaken — that 
a darker shade of sadness possessed his face at 
the conclusion than the one that shadowed it 
so heavily at the beginning of the repast. 
“The pleasures of hope,” I said to myself, “ are 
evidently greater to my species than are those 
of recollection. Now that there is nothing left 
for my guest to anticipate, it is evident that 
memory ceases to excite.” And I could but 
feel that, had our provisions been more abun- 
dant, the stranger’s appetite would not have 
been so easily appeased. With something of 
regret in my voice, I sought to divert his mind 
from that sense of disappointment which I 
judged from his countenance threatened to 
oppress his spirits. 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


15 


“ Friend,” I said, “ I doubt not that you have 
trailed a goodly distance, and your fasting has 
been long ? ” 

“ I have not eaten a meal in two days,” was 
the response. 

“ Heavens ! ” exclaimed Dick in an aside to 
the major. “Is it credible that that man ate 
two days ago ! ” 

“ Gad ! ” exclaimed the major, “ the man’s 
stomach is nothing but a pocket.” 

“A pocket! I should call it an unexplored 
cavern ! ” retorted Dick. 

“ The direction and reason of your long trail 
would be interesting,” I resumed. “And, if 
not impertinent, friend, may I ask you whence 
you have come ? ” 

“ I have journeyed from Texas,” replied the 
man, and his voice nearly broke as he said it. 

“Oh!” exclaimed the ladies, and they sym- 
pathetically grouped themselves, anticipating, 
with true feminine sensitiveness, some terrible 
denouement. 


1 6 THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 

“ Texas !” I ejaculated. 

“Gad!” said the major. 

“The Devil!” said Dick. 

“Yes, Texas!” repeated the man, and he 
groaned. 

By this time, as any intelligent reader will 
easily divine, our whole group was in a condi- 
tion of mild excitement. Several of us had 
resided in Texas, and we felt that we stood at 
the threshold of a history, — a history with 
infinite possibilities in it. For myself, I knew 
not how to proceed. My position as a host 
forbade me to interrogate. The sorrows of life 
are sacred, and my sensitiveness withheld me 
from thrusting myself within the enclosure of 
my guest’s recollections. That his experiences, 
could we but be favored with a narration of 
them, would be entertaining, — painfully enter- 
taining, — I keenly realized ; but how to pro- 
ceed I saw not. I remained silent. 

“ Yes,” — it was the stranger who broke the 
silence, — “I am a busted ex-Texan ! ” 







































THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


17 


The relief that came to me at the instant was 
indescribable. The path was made plain. We 
all felt that we were not only on the threshold 
of a history, but of a narration of that history. 
The ladies fluttered into position for listening-. 
I could but see it, and so I am bound to record 
that I saw Dick irreverently punch the major. 
Jt was a punch which carried with it the signifi- 
cance of an exclamation. The major received 
it with the face of a Spartan, but with the grunt 
of a Chinook chief. 

“Friend,” I said, “we are accustomed to 
beguile the evening hours with entertaining de- 
scriptions of travels, often of personal incidents 
of the haps and hazards of life ; and, if it would 
not be disagreeable to you, we would be vastly 
entertained, beyond doubt, by any narration 
with which you might favor us of your Texan 
experiences and of the fortunes which befell 
you there.” 

For a few moments, the silence remained 
unbroken, save by the crackle of the fire and 


1 8 THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 

the soft movement in the great firs overhead, — 
a movement which is to sound what dawn is to 
the day ; not so much a sound as a feathery 
suggestion that sound might come. It was a 
genial hour, and the mood of the hour began 
to be felt in our own. The warmth of it evi- 
dently penetrated the bosom of our guest. He 
had eaten. He was filled, — appreciably so at 
least, and that happy feeling, that comfortable 
sense of fulness, which characterizes the after- 
dinner hour, pervaded him with its genial glow. 
He loosened his belt, — another tremendous 
nudge from Dick, — and a look of contentment 
softened his features. Whatever storm had 
wrecked his life, he had now passed beyond its 
billows, and from the sure haven into which he 
had been blown he could gaze with complacent 
resignation, if not with happiness, at the dan- 
gers through which he had passed. I am sure 
that we were all delighted at the brightening 
appearance of our guest, and felt that, if the 
story he was to tell us was one which included 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


19 


disasters, it would at least be lightened by 
traces of humor and the calm acceptance of a 
philosophic mind. 

“ I was born in the State of Connecticut,” 
so our guest began his narration. “ I came 
from a venturesome stock, and the instinct of 
commercial enterprise may be regarded as 
hereditary in my family. My grandfather was 
the first one to discover the tropical attributes 
of the beech-wood tree. He first perceived 
that it contained within its fibres the pungency 
of the nutmeg. With a celerity which we re- 
member with pride in our family, he availed 
himself of the commercial value of his dis- 
covery, and for years did a prosperous trade on 
the credulity of mankind. He was a man of 
humor, — a sense which has been to some 
extent transmitted to myself, — he was a man 
of humor, and I have no doubt he enjoyed the 
joke he was practising on people, fully as much 
as the profits which the practical embodiment 
of his humor brought to his pocket. My father 


20 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


was a deacon, a man of true piety and eminently 
respectable. He was engaged in the retail- 
grocery business, — a business which offers 
opportunities to a person of wit and of an 
inventive turn of mind. The butter that he 
sold was salted invariably by one rule — a rule 
which he discovered and applied in the cellar 
of the store himself ; and the sugar which he 
sold, if it was sanded, was always sanded by a 
method which improved rather than detracted 
from its appearance.” 

Here our guest paused a moment, as if 
enjoying the recollections of the virtues of his 
ancestors. His face was as sober as ever, but 
his look was one of contentment ; and I could 
but note the suggestion of merriment — the 
merriment of a happy memory — in his eye. 
How happy it is for an offspring to be able to 
recall the character of his forefathers with such 
liveliness of mind ! 

“ The motive which impelled me towards 
Texas,” he resumed, “was one which was 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 2 1 

natural for me to feel, thus ancestrally con- 
nected. I had heired my father’s business, — 
the deacon, who had died full of honors, ripe in 
years, and in perfect peace. But the business 
did not prosper in my hands ; perhaps, I had 
not heired, with the business, the deacon’s 
ability, — that accuracy of eye, that gravity of 
appearance, that deftness of touch, so to speak, 
which underlay his success. Be that as it may, 
the business did not pay, and without hesita- 
tion I sold it ; and, with a comfortable sum for 
investment, I journeyed to Texas. 

“It is proper for me to remark that the 
welcome I received was most cordial. I chose 
a populous centre for a temporary residence, 
and proceeded to look around me. I found the 
Texans to be a warm-hearted people, much 
given to hospitality, and willing, with a charm- 
ing disinterestedness, to admit all new-comers, 
with capital, to the enormous profits of their 
various enterprises. 

“ For the first time in my life, I found myself 


22 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


among a people who were successful in every- 
thing they undertook. Their profits were 
simply enormous. No speculation could possi- 
bly fail. However I invested my money, I was 
assured that I would speedily become a million- 
naire. Cotton was a certain crop. Corn was 
never known to fail. The Texan tobacco was 
rapidly driving the Cuban out of the market. 
The aboriginal grapes of the State, of which 
there were millions of acres waiting for the 
presses, yielded, as Europe confessed, a wine 
superior to Champagne. If I preferred herd- 
ing, all I had to do was to purchase a few sheep 
and simply sit down. There was no section of 
the globe where sheep were so prolific, fleeces 
so thick, or the demands of market so clamor- 
ous. And, as for horses, I was assured that no 
one in Texas who knew the facts of the case 
would spend any time in raising them. The 
prairies were full of them, hundreds of thou- 
sands of them, all blooded stock, ‘ true descend- 
ants, sir, from the Moorish Barb, distributed 


THE BUSTED EX- TEXAN. 


2 3 


through the whole country at the Spanish 
invasion.’ I need do nothing but purchase fifty 
thousand acres, fence the territory in, and the 
enclosed herds would continue to propagate 
indefinitely. Such were the delightful pict- 
ures which my entertainers presented to me. 
Captivated by the charming manners of my 
hosts, my sanguine temperament kindled into 
heat at the touch of their enthusiasm. Where 
every venture was sure of successful issue, there 
was no need for deliberation or selection. I 
invested indiscriminately in all, and waited 
buoyantly for the results.” 

Here the stranger paused, compelled, per- 
haps, by a slight interruption. Dick had re- 
tired, closely followed by the major. Our guest 
certainly was not devoid of humor, and I was 
convinced, as I watched the play of his features, 
that he apprehended and appreciated the reason 
for their retirement. He lifted a plate from the 
table, inspected it closely, turned it over, gazed 
contemplatively at its reversed side, and, pois- 


24 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


in g it deftly upon the point of three fingers, 
quietly remarked : — 

“The gentlemen, I judge, have been in 
Texas ? ” 

“ They have,” I replied : “we three were there 
together.” 

“Ah!” 

It was all he said. I might add, it was all 
that could be said. 

At this point, Dick and the major rejoined us. 
Their eyes showed traces of recent tears. They 
were still wiping their faces with their handker- 
chiefs. With that refinement which is charac- 
teristic of true gentlemen, and which seeks 
concealment of any extraordinary emotion, they 
had considerately retired to indulge their 
laughter. 

“Iam delighted,” continued our guest, after 
Dick and the major had resumed their seats, “ I 
am delighted to find myself in company with 
men of experience. I feel that you will not 
question the veracity of my story, or fail to 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


25 


appreciate the outcome of my enterprises. At 
the end of two years, my property was distrib- 
uted promiscuously throughout the State, and I 
was reduced to the necessity of making one 
final venture to recoup myself for the losses 
which, to the astonishment of the entire Texan 
community, I assured them I had met. I was 
the only man, as they asserted, ‘ that had ever 
failed to make a magnificent success in Texas.’ 

“You can readily conceive, gentlemen, that I 
was determined to make no mistake in my final 
venture. There were other reasons, beside the 
one of caution, which persuaded me to begin 
with a moderate investment ; so I bought one 
cow. It was impossible for me to make a mis- 
take from such a beginning. Every person in 
Texas that had rapidly risen to financial emi- 
nence had started with one cow. Many a time 
had a Texan ranchman swept his hand with 
a royal gesture over a landscape of flowers and 
Mesquite brush, dotted with thousands of cattle, 
and exclaimed, ‘ Stranger, I started this yer 


26 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


ranch with one cow.’ And then he would take 
out a piece of chalk and figure out to me on his 
saddle how that one cow had multiplied herself 
into seven thousand five hundred and twenty- 
three other cows, which had proceeded to 
promptly multiply themselves, ‘ regular as the 
seasons come round, sir/ in the same reckless 
manner, until it was evident that the number of 
her progeny was actually curtailed by the size 
of the saddle and the lack of chalk. Now, I 
was eager to possess a cow with such a multipli- 
cation-table attachment, and, being unable to 
wait even ten years before I could tingle with 
the sensation of being a millionnaire ranchman, 
I decided to shorten the probationary stage by 
half, and so I purchased two cows.” 

At this point, Dick rolled over upon the 
grass, and the major was doubled up as with 
sudden pain. As for myself, I confess I could 
not restrain my emotions. I had been through 
the same experience as had fallen to my guest, 
and I appreciated the sanguine characteristics 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


2 7 


of his temperament, which prompted him to the 
investment, and the humor of the situation. I 
laughed till my eyes flowed with tears, and the 
stillness of the foot-hills resounded with the 
unrestrained merriment of the entire camp. 

The humor of our guest was truly American, 
the humor of suggestive restraint and exaggera- 
tion both. He narrated his experiences, which 
had resulted in the loss of his fortune and the 
collapse of his hopes, with a face like a deacon’s, 
and with a quaint and most charming sense of 
the ludicrousness of the position — a position 
of which he himself was the cause and central 
object. He fairly represented that type of men 
who combine in their composition that which is 
most practical and imaginative alike ; whose 
energy can subdue a continent, and whose 
boastfulness would awaken contempt if it were 
not palliated by the magnitude of their achieve- 
ments. A humor that is often barbed, but 
which is most willingly directed against one’s 
self ; but, whether directed against the humorist 


28 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


or his neighbor, carries no poison upon its 
point and leaves no wound to rankle. 

“ My financial condition,” said our guest, 
resuming, “ my financial condition at the time 
I made this final investment contributed to the 
hopefulness of my mood, and made me feel the 
excitement of a reckless speculation, for, though 
my two cows only cost me seventeen dollars 
and fifty cents each, nevertheless, when the 
purchase was concluded, and the goods de- 
livered,, and I had made a careful inventory of 
my remaining assets, — a business proceeding 
which the average Texan found it necessary to 
go through about once in two weeks, in order 
that he might know what his financial standing 
was, or whether he had any standing at all, — 
when, I say, the' purchase was consummated, 
and an inventory of my remaining assets made, 
I discovered that the two cows had swallowed 
up nearly my entire estate, and that a few 
dollars of farther expenditure would plunge me 
into bottomless insolvency. I must confess that 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


29 


this disclosure of my financial condition added 
zest to the undertaking, and filled me with that 
fine excitement which accompanies a desperate 
speculation. I have always felt that another 
cow would have made a financier of me, and 
that I could have taken my place among my 
brethren in Wall Street without a tremor of the 
muscles or the least sense of inferiority. 

“The cows were both black in color; so 
black that they would make a spot in the dark- 
ness of the blackest night that ever gloomed 
under the cypresses of the Guadaloupe. ‘ If 
those cows,’ I said to myself as I looked them 
over, ‘ if those cows ever do bring forth calves 
at the rate that the Texan of whom I purchased 
them figured out on his saddle, they’ll put the 
whole State under an eclipse.’ 

“ I cannot say, — speaking with that restraint 
which I have always cultivated, — I cannot say, 
ladies and gentlemen, that I regarded either 
cow with any great affection. There were 
peculiarities about them, which checked the 


30 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


outgoing of my emotional nature. They had a 
way of looking at me through the wire fence, 
that made me feel grateful to the inventor of 
barbed wire. I cannot describe the look 
exactly. It was a direct, earnest, steady, intense 
inspection of my person, that made me feel out 
of place, as it were, and caused me to remember 
that I had duties at home, which required me 
to get there as rapidly as possible. 

“ One morning, seeing that the basis of my 
speculation was near the centre of the field, 
and busily feeding on the bountiful growths of 
nature, I crept softly through the wires of the 
fence that I might gather some pecan nuts 
under a big tree that stood some twenty rods 
away. I reached the tree in safety, and pro- 
ceeded to pick up the nuts. I had filled one 
pocket only when I heard a noise behind me, 
and, looking up, I saw that all the profits of my 
stock speculation, and all my stock itself, were 
coming toward me on a jump. I was never 
more collected in my life. My mind instantly 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


31 


reached the conclusion that the pecan crop that 
year was so large in Texas that it would not 
pay to pick up another nut under that tree ; that 
the whole thing should stand over, as it were, 
until another fall, and that, the sooner I retired 
from that field, the better it would be for me 
and the few pecans I had about me. 

“Acting in harmony with this conclusion, — 
which to my mind carried with it the force of a 
demonstration, — I started for the wire fence. 
I have no doubt but that the line of my move- 
ment was absolutely straight. I assure you, 
gentlemen, that if cows had multiplied in my 
business connection as rapidly as they did in my 
imagination during the next sixty seconds of 
time, I should have been in Texas to this day. 
The whole field was actually alive with cows. I 
reached the fence just one jump ahead of the 
oldest cow, and, seeing no reason why I should 
take time to crawl through between the wires, 
I lifted myself over the airy obstruction in a 
manner that must have convinced that old 


32 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


animated bit of blackness that I had absolute 
ownership in every nut about me. This little 
episode supplied me with material for reflection 
for at least a week, and made me realize that any 
northern man that enters into a speculation 
with Texas cows as a basis must keep his eyes 
open, and not allow his thoughts to be diverted 
by any side issues, like pecan nuts, while the 
business is developing. 

“The sixth morning after my speculation had 
arrived at the ranch, my profits began to roll in 
upon me, — or, to state it more practically, and 
in a business-like manner, the oldest cow pro- 
duced a calf. This raised my spirits, and made 
me feel that my business was fairly started. I 
went to my stock-book and promptly made an 
entry as follows: 7523-1. This meant that 
there were only seven thousand five hundred and 
twenty -two yet to realize on ; that is, if seven 
thousand five hundred and twenty-two calves 
should promptly come to time, seeing that one 
calf had already actually come to time, my herd 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


33 


would be complete. I think, gentlemen, you 
can readily understand my feelings as I stood 
contemplating the first fruition of my hopes 
from behind a tree. The cow was securely tied, 
but still from habit I took my usual position 
when inspecting my stock. My mood was very 
hopeful. I felt as every Texan felt, in those 
days, when by some accident he found himself 
in possession of actual property. ‘ There is a 
calf,’ I said ; ‘I’ve only had to wait six days for 
that calf to materialize. Suppose another calf 
should materialize in six days.’ I extracted a 
pencil from my pocket and began to figure. I 
multiplied that calf by six — I mean that at the 
end of six days I multiplied that calf by 
another calf. Every time I put down a new 
multiplier I took a look at the calf, and every 
time I looked at the calf it multiplied itself, as 
it were, until I felt the full force of the Texan’s 
statement, save that, the more I multiplied, the 
more I felt that seven thousand five hundred 
and twenty-three did not fairly represent the 


34 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


certainties of the speculation. That cow would 
surely make a millionnaire of me yet — if 
nothing happened. 

“But, gentleman, something did happen, and 
it happened in this wise : You have doubtless, 
by this, concluded that the cow was a wild cow. 
The man who sold her to me had not put it 
precisely that way. He had represented her to 
me as a cow of mild manners, thoroughly 
domesticated, of the sweetest possible temper, 
used to the women folks, playful with children, 
— in short, a creature of such amiability that she 
actually longed to be petted. But I had already 
discovered that her manners were somewhat 
abrupt, and that either the man did not under- 
stand the nature of the cow or I did not un- 
derstand the man. I was convinced that, if she 
had ever been domesticated, it had been done 
by some family every member of which had 
died in the process, or had suddenly moved out 
of the country only a short distance ahead of 
her, and that she had utterly forgotten her early 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


35 


training. Still, I had no doubt but that her 
amiability was there, although temporarily some- 
what latent, and that the influences of a gentle 
spirit would revive the dormant sensibilities of 
her nature. ‘ The sight of a milk-pail/ I said 
to myself, ‘ will surely awaken the reminiscences 
of her early days, and of that sweet home-life 
which was hers when she yielded at morn and 
at night her glad contribution to the nourish- 
ment of a Christian family.’ 

“ There was on my ranch a servitor of foreign 
extraction who did my cooking for what he 
could eat, — Chin Foo by name, — and to him 
I called to bring me the large tin pail, which 
served the household — which, like most Texan 
households in the Tertiary period, so to speak, 
of their fortunes, was conducted on economic 
principles — as a washtub, a chip-basket, a 
water-bucket, and a dinner-gong. It also 
occurred to me, as I stood looking at the cow, 
and caught the spirit of her expression, so to 
speak, that, as she had come to stay, was a 


36 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


permanent fixture of the establishment, as it 
were, Chin Foo might as well do the milking 
first as last. Moreover, as the Texan from 
whom I purchased her had assured me that she 
was a kind of household pet, the children’s 
friend, and took to women folks naturally, the 
case was a very clear one. For, as Chin Foo 
had long hair, wore no hat, and dressed in 
flowing drapery, the cow, unless she was more 
of a physiologist than I gave her credit for, 
would be in doubt somewhat as to the sex of 
the Chinaman ; and before she had time to 
ruminate upon it and reach a dead-sure conclu- 
sion, the milking would be over ; and I would 
have scored the first point in the game, if she 
was a cow of ability, had any trumps, and was 
up to any tricks, as it were. So I told Chin 
Foo, as he approached with the pail in his 
hand, that the cow was a splendid milker, 
thoroughly domesticated, accustomed to China- 
men, and that he might have the honor of 
milking her first. I remarked, furthermore, that, 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


37 


as everything about the place was new to her, 
and she was a little nervous, I would gently 
attract her attention in front, while he pro- 
ceeded to extract the delicious fluid. I charged 
him, in addition, to remember that it was always 
the best policy to approach a cow of her tem- 
perament in a bold and indifferent manner, as 
if he had milked her all his life, and get down 
to business at once ; and that any hesitation or 
show of nervousness on his part would tend to 
make her more nervous. 

“ I must say that Chin Foo acted in a highly 
creditable manner, considering he was in a 
strange land, and, to my certain knowledge, had 
no money laid by for funeral expenses ; for, 
while I was stirring the dust and flourishing my 
stick in a desultory manner in front of the cow, 
to divert her mind, and keep her thoughts from 
wandering backward too directly, he fluttered 
boldly up to her, and laid firmly hold of two 
teats, with the familiarity of an old acquaint- 


38 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


At this point of his narration the stranger 
paused a moment. There was a sort of plain- 
tive look on his face, and he gazed at the plates 
with an expression in his eyes of sorrowful 
recollection. 

“ I cannot say,” he resumed, as one who 
speaks oppressed with a sense of uncertainty, 
“ exactly what did happen, for I never saw the 
Chinaman again until he alighted. I only 
know that when he came down he was practi- 
cally inside the pail, and that he sat in it a 
moment with a kind of dreamy eastern look 
on . his face, as if he lived on the isle of 
Patmos and had seen a vision. And when he 
had crawled out of the pail he went directly 
into the house, saying, ‘ The Melican man is 
dam foolee to try to milkee that cussee ! ’ or 
words to that effect. 

“ But I did not agree with him. I reflected 
that the Chinese are only an imitative race, and 
wholly lacking in original perception. ‘ They 
never invent anything,’ I said ; ‘ never study 






















THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


39 


into causes, never get down to principles, as it 
were. It requires a purely occidental intellect 
to master the problem before me. This cow 
has a strong disinclination to be milked. Why? 
What is the motive of her conduct ? If I could 
only answer that ! ’ All at once it came to me, 
— came like a flash. The reason was plain. 

4 This cow is a mother. The maternal instinct 
in her case is beautifully developed. Her rea- 
soning faculties less so. She has a calf. To 
her mind, we are trying to rob her beloved 
offspring of its nourishment. She naturally 
resents this injustice on our part. Beautiful 
development of maternity,’ I apostrophized, 
as I looked at the cow in the light of this 
new revelation. ‘ Thy instincts are those that 
sweeten the world, and remind us of the 
benignity that planned the universe. I will 
bring thy calf to thee. I will show thee that I 
am not devoid of the spirit of equity; that 
I am ready to go shares and play fair, as it 
were. Thy calf shall take one side of thee. I 


40 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


will take the other, and thy soul will come forth 
to me in gratitude ! * 

“ I was delighted. I went directly to the pen, 
and gazed benevolently at the calf. The little 
imp w r as blacker, if possible, than its mother. 
There was that same peculiar look also in its 
eyes. ‘ You’re all hers ! ’ I joyfully cried, ‘ you 
are your mother’s own child ! ’ I seized hold of 
the neck-rope. I opened the pen-door and I 
went out through that door quicker than a 
vagrant cat ever got round a corner of a house 
where a Scotch terrier boards. The calf went 
under the cow and I struck her, head on. But I 
had come to stay. I grabbed the pail with one 
hand and a teat with the other. I tugged it, 
pulled it, twisted it. Not a drop could I start. 
A suction pump of twenty horse-power would 
have found it drier than Sahara, and all the 
while the calf’s mouth, on the other side, was 
actually running over with milk ! In two min- 
utes he looked like a black watermelon. Then 
the cow, with a kind of back action, suddenly 

























THE BUSTED EX- TEXAN. 


41 


reached out one foot, and when I came to I 
found myself facing a mulberry tree, with one 
leg on each side of it. 

“ By this time I had reached a decision, and I 
had the courage of my convictions. I felt it to 
be my duty to milk that cow. I reminded her 
in plain, straightforward language that I was the 
son of a deacon, and that she’d find it out 
before she got through with me. I assured her 
that I understood the beauty of righteousness, 
and that I held a strong hand — a straight flush, 
as it were. I was well aware that the metaphor 
was somewhat mixed ; but it expressed my sen- 
timents and relieved my feelings, and so I fired 
it at her point-blank. She snorted and pawed 
and bellowed, and swore at me in cow-language, 
but I didn’t care for that. So I shook the old, 
battered milk-pail in her face, and told her I 
was born in Connecticut, and did business on 
spot-cash principle ; and that she would know 
more of the commandments than any cow of 
her color in Texas, before we said our long 
farewell. 


42 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


“ By this time the matter had attracted a good 
deal of attention, for I had carried on my con- 
versation with the cow in the voice of a trage- 
dian when the chief villain of the play has 
stolen his girl, and my next neighbor, an old 
sea-captain from Mattagorda Bay, and his hired 
men had come over to assist me. They were 
of the nature of a reenforcement, which con- 
sisted of the captain, a Mexican, a Michigan 
man that stuttered, and two negroes — Napoleon 
Bonaparte de Neville Smith, and George 
Washington Marlborough Johnsing, by name. 
Hence we were six in all, and I decided to take 
the offensive at once. The captain was 
advanced in years and rheumatic, but a clear- 
headed man, used to command, and had 
‘ boarded,’ as he expressed it, ‘ several of the 

crafts in his own waters.’ So I put him in 

charge of the marines, namely, ourselves, and 
told him to fight the ship for all she was worth. 
He caught on to the thing at once, and swore 
he would ‘ sweep the old black hulk fore and 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


43 


aft, and send every mother’s son to the bottom, 
or make her strike her colors.’ The vigor of 
the gallant old gentleman’s language, and the 
noble manner in which he shook his cane at the 
old pirate, put us all in good spirits, and I verily 
believe that, if he had at that fortunate 
moment given the word ‘ board ! ’ we would, 
niggers and all, have gone over the bulwarks of 
that old cow with a rush. 

“The captain’s plan of action was proof of his 
courage, and in harmony with my own ideas of 
the matter. He said that our force was ample, 
every gun shotted, and the ports open ; that 
we had the windward gauge of her, and that 
the proper course was to send a boat in to cut 
her cable, and, when she drifted down with the 
current, we would ware ship, lay up alongside, 
grapple, pass lashings aboard, and send the 
whole crew on to her deck with a rush. 
Assaulted in such a man-of-war style, he was 
confident she would become confused, be 
intimidated, and strike her colors without firing 


44 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


a gun. The brave and sonorous language with 
which our commander set forth his plan of 
assault captured our imaginations, and we all 
longed for the moment when the word of 
command should permit us to swarm up the 
sides and over the rail of the old bovine. 

“Not only was the general plan thus agreed 
upon, but each man had his post of duty 
assigned to him. When the ‘ cable was cut,’ 
that is, when the cow should find herself at 
liberty and bolt, as she would be sure to do, the 
Mexican was to lasso her and hang on ; 
Napoleon Bonaparte de Neville and George 
Washington Marlborough were to lay hold of 
her horns to ‘ port and starboard,’ as the captain 
insisted, while the Michigan man — who was 
over six feet tall, and leggy — was to fasten 
with a good grip on to her tail, that he might 
serve not only as a ‘ drag,’ as our commander 
phrased it, but as a pilot as well, ‘ if she should 
get to yawing or be suddenly taken aback, and 
be unable to come up into the wind promptly,’ 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


45 


while I was held in reserve to guard against 
emergencies. I did not quite like the position 
assigned to me, and so intimated to the captain, 
but he said no one could tell how it might go 
when we once got out of the harbor, and, if any 
of the braces should part, or the sea get high, 
that he would have to send an additional man 
to the wheel, ‘ for,’ he added, in a whisper, ‘ God 
knows, that long-legged Michigan land-lubber 
could never keep her to a straight course if she 
should once get running with the wind over her 
quarter, and everything drawing, through that 
cornfield.’ I saw the force of his reasoning, 
and felt easier. 

“ So, without farther delay, we went into 
action. The old captain stood, knife in hand, 
ready to cut the lariat which held the cow to 
the tree, but, before he did so, he hailed, ‘ All 
ready to cut cables ! ’ 

“ ‘ Fo’ de lawd, cap’in ! ’ yelled Napoleon de 
Neville, ‘ what is dis yere nigger gwine to do 
if de udder nigger lets go ? ’ 


46 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


“ ‘ Go way dar, nigger ! ’ retorted George 
Washington Marlborough ; ‘ what you takes 

dis nigger for if you tinks I’s gwine to let go 
dis ole black cow ? * 

“ ‘ I’ll give a silver dollar to the nigger that 
holds on the longest,’ I yelled. 

“ ‘ Well answered, mate,’ sang out the old 
captain. ‘ All ready to cut cables. Cut she 
is! ’ 

“The cow gave a bellow like the roar of a 
lion, and made a rush with lowered horns at the 
captain. Now, this was not the course laid 
down on his chart for her to take ; and he and 
the rest of us were struck all aback, as he after- 
wards expressed it ; but he met the emergency 
with spirit. He broke his big, Spanish-oak 
stick on the nose of the brute, and then the old 
mariner rolled in the dust. 

“ ‘ Lay aboard of her, men ! ’ shouted the old 
hero, in a voice like a fog-horn, flourishing 
the fragments of his stick. ‘ Lay aboard of 
the old cuss, I say ! Cast your grapplings, 


I 



“Lay Aboard of the Old Cuss!” 












































































































































































































































































































































































































THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


47 


Greaser ! Seize her helm, some of ye, and 
throw it hard over to port ! ’ 

“These orders were obeyed with alacrity. 
Not a man flinched. The loop of the lasso 
settled over the polished horns to the roots, 
and Don Juan San Diego set it tight with a 
twang. Napoleon Bonaparte and George 
Washington rushed headlong upon her and 
hung to horns and ears ; while the man from 
Michigan fastened a grip on her lifted tail, as 
she tore past him, which straightened him out 
like a lathe. As to myself, I could only stand 
and gaze with solicitude upon the terrific con- 
test, on the issue of which depended not only 
the chances of my speculation, but even the 
preservation of my self-esteem. 

“ The combat deepened and enlarged itself, as 
it were. A bull-dog, who was wandering along 
the road in search of adventure, and two fox- 
hounds joined in the fight. The calf, the only 
one of the seven thousand five hundred and 
twenty-three I was ever destined to behold, 


48 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


broke from its pen and ran bellowing to its 
mother. The dogs bayed, the niggers yelled, 
the Mexican swore in his delightful tongue ; 
and the stuttering Michigander remained silent, 
simply from his inability to pronounce the pro- 
fanity of his feelings. 

“ Suddenly the cow, which had been slowly 
working her way, with her several attachments 
clinging to her, toward the road which ran 
along the front of the field, turned and started 
pell-mell toward the river, which flowed wide 
and deep, through the rushes, at the rear of it. 
She left the path and took to the corn, and 
through the mass of growing stalks she swept 
like a whirlwind. Onward she came. I antici- 
pated the awful catastrophe, and stood riveted 
to the spot. The old captain still sat in the 
gravel, where the cow had bowled him, his hand 
grasping the shattered cane, and his game leg 
extended. He too foresaw the inevitable. 
Through the corn came the cow, like a black 
Saturn attended by her satellites. But her 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


49 


career was too terrific for these to hold to their 
connection. The laws of the universe forbade 
it. Napoleon Bonaparte de Neville lost his 
hold as she crashed into the sorghum patch. 
George Washington Marlborough tripped over 
an irrigation ditch, and soared away at a tan- 
gent, like a sputtering remnant of a burnt-out 
world. Don Juan San Diego went the wrong 
side of a mulberry tree, and the lasso parted 
with a snap. He never stopped until his 
momentum carried him through the slats of 
the neighboring cow-pen. Only the long- 
legged Michigander kept his hold, and he looked 
like a pair of extended scissors. I stood aghast 
at the impending ruin of my hopes, with my 
lower jaw dropped. The captain alone re- 
tained his presence of mind. As the black 
unit of my last Texan speculation shot by 
him, with Michigan, elongated like a peninsula, 
fastened to her tail, he rolled up to his knees 
and roared : — 

“ ‘ Starboard your helm , boy l Luff her 


50 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


up l Luff her up , for the love of God , or 
the colonel is busted ! ’ 

“It is doubtful if the Michigan man ever 
heard the stentorian call of the captain, for 
sound travels only thirteen hundred feet to the 
second, and the cow was certainly going con- 
siderably faster than that ; and, besides, he was 
himself engaged, with a terrific earnestness, in a 
vain effort to extricate a word out of his throat, 
which stuck like a wad in a smutty gun — a 
word of undoubted Saxon origin and of expres- 
sive force, and which has saved more blood- 
vessels from bursting than the lancet of the 
phlebotomist, for as he streamed past there 
was left floating upon the air a long string of 
d’s, thus : d d d — d — d — d-d-d . . . ! 

“ No one who did not hear them could ever 
conceive of the awful sputtering, hissing sound 
that they caused in the atmosphere as they 
came out of the mouth of the mad and stutter- 
ing Michigander ; and as he and the cow bored a 
hole through the reeds on the bank of the 


































































































































































































1 1 









THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


51 


river, and, hitting a cypress stump, ricochetted 
into the water, that fiery string of d’s, still hot 
and sputtering, reached half across the field. 

“The splash of the two as they struck the 
water brought the old captain to his feet, and, in 
spite of his rheumatic leg, he rushed toward the 
river, crying : — 

“ ‘ Man overboard ! Man overboard ! 
Gone clean over the forechains! Life-floats to 
port and starboard ! * 

“ With such a frightful catastrophe, gentle- 
men, the remembrance of which actually makes 
me nervous, my last speculation in Texas ended. 
Going over the whole matter with the captain 
that evening, — a process which took us well 
into the night, — it was our united opinion that 
the speculation was a failure. This conviction 
was mutual and profound. The cow was not 
only gone, but she had shown such disinclina- 
tion to be domesticated, and such a misappre- 
hension of the true purpose of life, that the 
prospect was truly disheartening. 


52 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


“‘Why, damn it, colonel,’ said the captain, 
‘ we’ve no evidence that the old cow wanted to 
be milked ! ’ 

“To this discouraging conclusion of the 
captain’s I was compelled to give a sorrowful 
assent.. I recognized that my speculation was 
in arrears, as it were, and that it would never 
figure up a profit. 

“ Therefore, next day I divided my few per- 
sonal effects between the captain and the noble 
men who had risked their lives for an idea ; who 
had seen the tragedy played out and the curtain 
rung down to my last appearance, as it were. 
And, with the few dollars which alone remained 
of the fortune which I took with me to Texas, 
I mounted my horse and started northward, to 
join that noble army of martyrs, that brother- 
hood of sufferers, that fraternity of the busted, 
whose members are legion, and who are known 
as ‘ Ex- Texans .’ ” 

The hilarity of the camp that evening under 
the foot-hills will never be forgotten by those of 
us who composed the happy number, and who 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


53 


listened with streaming eyes and aching sides 
to the narrative of our unfortunate guest. He 
told his story with a directness and simplicity of 
narrative, with a gravity of countenance and 
plaintiveness of voice, which heightened the 
humor of the substance. Never did the stars, 
which have seen so much of human happiness, 
which have listened to so much of the rollicking 
humor of those who were fashioned for laughter, 
looked down upon a jollier camp. Long after 
our guest had ended his narrative and was 
apparently sleeping in happy forgetfulness of 
his Texas speculation, succeeding pauses of 
silence would come roars of laughter. The 
remembrance of the humorous tale banished 
sleep, and, even after slumber had fallen on us 
all, fun still held possession of our dreams. For 
Dick, starting from sleep in a nightmare of 
hilarity, roared out : “ Luff her up, luff her 
up , or the colonel is busted /” 

Ay, ay, thank God for laughter. Thank 
him heartily and ever, dear friend, blow the 
winds, run the tides as they may. The sorrows 


54 


THE BUSTED EX-TEXAN. 


of life may be many, and its griefs may be 
keen, and we who are frosted with years and 
you who are blooming have felt and will feel the 
sting of false friends and the burden of losses ; 
but, lose what we may, or be pained as we have 
been and shall be, we are happy in this, — we 
who know how to laugh, — that we find wings for 
each burden, solace for pains, and return for 
all losses, in our sweet sense of humor, thank 
Heaven ! So, whether rich men or poor, healthy 
or sick, brown-headed or gray, we will go on 
like children, with eyes for all beauty and hearts 
for all fun. Let lilies teach us, and of the 
birds of the air let us learn. The day that is 
not shall not make us anxious, for of each day 
is the evil enough, and the morrow shall take 
care of itself. 



HOW DEACON TUBMAN 

and PARSON WHITNEY 


CELEBRATED NEW YEARS. 





HOW DEACON TUBMAN AND PAR- 
SON WHITNEY CELEBRATED NEW 
YEAR’S. 


M IRANDY, I’m going up to see the par- 
son,” exclaimed the deacon, when the 
morning devotions were over, “ and see if I 
can thaw him out a little. I’ve heard that there 
used to be a lot in him in his younger days, but 
he’s sort of frozen all up latterly, and I can see 
that the young folks are afraid of him and the 
church too, but that won’t do — no, it won’t do,” 
repeated the good man emphatically, “ for the 
minister ought to be loved by young and old, 
rich and poor, and everybody ; and a church 
without young folks in it is, why, it is like a 
family with no children in it. Yes, I’ll go up 
and wish him a Happy New Year anyway. 
55 


56 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

Perhaps I can get him out for a ride to make 
some calls on the people, and see the young 
folks at their fun. It’ll do him good, and them 
good, and me good, and -everybody good.” 
Saying which, the deacon got inside, his warm 
fur coat, and started toward the barn to harness 
Jack into the worn, old-fashioned sleigh, which 
sleigh was built high in the back, and had a 
curved dasher of monstrous proportions, orna- 
mented with a prancing horse in an impossible 
attitude, done in bright vermilion on a blue 
background ! 

“ Happy New Year to you, Parson Whitney! 
Happy New Year to you,” cried the deacon, as 
he stood in the doorway of the parsonage and 
shook the parson by the hand enthusiastically, 
“ and may you live to enjoy a hundred.” 

“ Come in, come in,” cried Parson Whitney, 
in response. “ I’m glad you’ve come ; I’m glad 
you’ve come. I’ve been wanting to see you all 
the morning,” and in the cordiality of his greet- 
ing he literally pulled the little man through the 


DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 57 

doorway into the hall, and hurried him up the 
stairway to his study in the chamber overhead. 

“Thinking of me! Well, now, I never!” 
exclaimed the deacon, as, assisted by the parson, 
he twisted and wriggled himself out of his coat, 
that he filled a little too snugly for an easy exit. 
“ Thinking of me, and among all these books 
too — Bibles, catechisms, tracts, theologies, ser- 
mons. Well, well, that is funny. What made 
you think of me ? ” 

“ Deacon Tubman,” responded the parson, as 
he seated himself in his armchair, “ I want to 
talk with you about the church.” 

“The church!” ejaculated the deacon in 
response. “ Nothing going wrong, I hope ? ” 

“Yes, things are going wrong, deacon,” re- 
sponded the parson. “The congregation is 
growing smaller and smaller, and yet I preach 
good, strong, biblical, soul-satisfying sermons, I 
trust.” 

“ Good ones ! good ones ! ” answered the 
deacon promptly, “ never better — never better 
in the world.” 


58 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

“ And yet the people are deserting the sanc- 
tuary,” rejoined the parson solemnly, “and the 
young people won’t come to the sociables, and 
the little children seem actually afraid of me. 
What shall I do, deacon ? ” and the good man 
put the question with pathetic emphasis. 

“ You’ve hit the nail on the head, square as a 
hatchet, parson,” responded the deacon. “The 
congregation is thinning. The young people 
don’t come to the meetings, and the little chil- 
dren are afraid of you.” 

“What’s the matter, deacon?” cried the par- 
son in return. “What is it?” he repeated 
earnestly. “ Speak it right out ; don’t try to 
spare my feelings. I will listen to — I will do 
anything to win back my people’s love,” and 
the strong, old-fashioned Calvinistic preacher 
said it in a voice that actually trembled. 

“You can do it — you can do it in a week ! ” 
exclaimed the deacon encouragingly. “ Don’t 
worry about it, parson ; it’ll be all right, it’ll be 
all right. Your books are the trouble.” 


DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 59 

“Books?” ejaculated the parson. “What 
have they to do with it ? ” 

“ Everything,” replied the deacon stoutly. 
“ You pore over them day in and day out ; they 
keep you in this room here when you should be 
out among the people, — not making pastoral 
visits, — I don’t mean that, — but going around 
among them, chatting and joking and having a 
good time. They would like it, and you would 
like it, and as for the young folks — how old 
are you, parson ? ” 

“Sixty next month,” answered the parson; 
“ sixty next month,” he repeated solemnly. 

“ Thirty ! thirty ! that’s all you are, parson, or 
all you ought to be,” cried the deacon. “ Thirty, 
twenty, sixteen ! — let the figures slide down 
and up, according to circumstances, but never 
let them go higher than thirty when you are 
dealing with young folks. I’m sixty myself, 
counting years ; but I’m only sixteen, sixteen 
this morning, that’s all, parson,” and he rubbed 
his little round plump hands together, looked at 
the parson, and winked. 


60 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

“ Bless my soul, Deacon Tubman, I don’t 
know but that you are right ! ” answered the 
parson. “ Sixty? I don’t know as I am sixty,” 
and he began to rub his own hands, and came 
within an ace of executing a wink at the deacon, 
himself. 

“Not a day over twenty, if I am any judge 
of age,” responded the deacon deliberately, as* 
he looked the white-headed old minister over 
with a most comic imitation of seriousness. 
“ Not a day over twenty, on my honor,” and 
the deacon leaned forward toward the parson, 
and gave him a punch with his thumb, as one 
boy might deliver a punch at another, and then 
he lay back in his chair and laughed so heartily 
that the parson caught the infectious mirth and 
roared away as heartily as himself. 

Yes, it was impossible to sit hobnobbing with 
the little, jolly deacon on that bright New Year’s 
morning and not be affected by the happiness 
of his mood, for he was actually bubbling over 
with fun, and as full of frolic as if the finder 

7 o 


DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 6 1 


on the dial had, in truth, gone back forty-odd 
years, and he was “ only sixteen. Only six- 
teen, parson, on my honor.” 

“But what can I do?” queried the good 
man, sobering down. “ I make my pastoral 
visits.” 

“ Pastoral visits ! ” responded Deacon Tubman. 
“ Oh, yes, and they are all well enough for the 
old folks, but they ar’n’t the kind of biscuit 
the young folks like — too heavy in the centre, 
and over-hard in the crust for young teeth, eh, 
parson ? ” 

“ But what shall I do ? what shall I do?” 
reiterated the parson, somewhat despondently. 

“ Oh ! put on your hat, and gloves, and 
warmest coat, and come along with me. We 
will see what the young folks are doing, and 
will make a day of it. Come ! come ! let the 
old books, and catechisms, and sermons, and 
tracts have a respite for once, and we’ll spend 
the day out-of-doors, with the boys and girls 
and the people.” 


62 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

“ I’ll do it ! ” exclaimed the parson. “ Deacon 
Tubman, you are right. I do keep to my study 
too closely. I don’t see enough of the world 
and what’s going on in it. I was reading the 
Testament this morning, and I was impressed 
with the Master’s manner of living and teach- 
ing. It is not certain that he ever preached 
more than twice in a church during all his min- 
istry on the earth. And the children ! how 
much he loved the children, and how the little 
ones loved him ! And why shouldn’t they love 
me, too? Why shouldn’t they? I’ll make 
them do it ! yes, I’ll make them do it ! The 
lambs of my flock shall love me.” And with 
these brave words Parson Whitney bundled 
himself up in his warmest garments, and fol- 
lowed the deacon downstairs. 

“Tell the folks that you won’t be back till 
night,” called the deacon from the sleigh ; 
“ for this is New Year, and we’re going to 
make a day of it,” and he laughed away as 
heartily as might be — so heartily that the par- 


DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 63 

son joined in the laughter himself as he came 
shuffling down the icy path toward him. “ Bless 
me! how much younger I feel already!” said the 
good man as he stood up in the sleigh, and 
with a long, strong breath breathed the cool, 
pure air into his lungs. “ Bless me ! how much 
younger 1 feel already!” he repeated, as he 
settled down into the roomy seat of the old 
sleigh. “ Only sixteen to-day, — eh, deacon ? ” 
and he nudged him with his elbow. 

“ That’s all, that’s all, parson,” answered the 
deacon gayly, as he nudged him vigorously 
back ; “ that’s all we are, either of us,” and, 
laughing as merrily as two boys, the two glided 
away in the sleigh. 

Well, perhaps they didn’t have fun that day, 
these two old boys that had started out with 
the feeling that they were “only sixteen,” and 
bound to make “ a day of it ! ” And they did 
make a day of it, in fact, and such a day as 
neither had had for forty years ; for, first, they 
went to Bartlett’s Hill, where the boys and 


64 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

girls were coasting, and coasted with them for 
a full hour, — and then it was discovered by 
the younger portion of his flock that the par- 
son was not an old, stiff, solemn, surly poke, as 
they had thought, but a pleasant, good-natured, 
kindly soul, who could take and give a joke, 
and steer a sled as well as the smartest boy 
in the crowd ; and when it came to snow-ball- 
ing, he could send a ball further than Bill 
Sykes himself, who could out-throw any boy in 
town, and roll up a bigger block to the new 
snow fort they were building than any three 
boys among them. And how the parson en- 
joyed being a boy again ! How exhilarating 
the slide down the steep hill ; how invigorating 
the pure, cool air ; how pleasant the noise 
of the chatting and joking going on around 
him ; how bright and sweet the boys and girls 
looked, with their rosy cheeks and sparkling 
eyes ; and how the old parson’s heart thrilled as 
they crowded around him when he would go, 
and urged him to stay, — and little Alice Dor- 


DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 65 

■Chester begged him, with her little arms around 
his neck, to “jes’ stay and gib me one more 
slide, please ! ” 

“ You never made such a pastoral call as 
that, parson,” said the deacon, as they drove 
away amid the cheers of the boys and the 
“ good-bys ” of the girls, while the former 
fired off a volley of snow-balls in his honor, 
and the latter waved their muffs and handker- 
chiefs after them. 

“ God bless them ! God bless them ! ” said the 
parson. “They have lifted a load from my heart, 
and taught me the sweetness of life, of youth, 
and the wisdom of Him who took the little ones 
in His arms, and blessed them. Ah, deacon,” 
he added, “ I’ve been a great fool, but I’ll be 
so, thank God ! no more.” 

Now, old Jack was a horse of a great deal of 
character, and had a great history ; but of this 
none in that section, save the little deacon, 
knew a word. Dick Tubman, the deacon's 
youngest, wildest, and, we might add, favorite 


66 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

son, had purchased him of an impecunious 
jockey, at the close of a disastrous cam- 
paign, that cleaned him completely out, and 
left him in a strange city a thousand miles from 
home, with nothing but the horse, harness, and 
sulky, and a list of unpaid bills that must be 
met before he could leave the scene of his dis- 
astrous fortunes. Under such circumstances it 
was that Dick Tubman ran across the horse, 
and partly out of pity for its owner, and partly 
out of admiration of the horse, whose failure to 
win at the races was due more to his lack of 
condition and the bad management of his jockey 
than lack of speed, bought him off-hand, and, 
having no use for him himself, shipped him as * 
a present to the deacon, with whom he had now 
been four years, with no harder work than 
ploughing out the good old man’s corn in the 
summer, and jogging along the country roads 
on the deacon’s errands. Having said thus 
much of the horse, perhaps we should more 
particularly describe him. 


DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 67 

He was, in sooth, an animal of most unique 
and extraordinary appearance ; for, in the first 
place, he was quite seventeen hands in height, 
and long in proportion. He was also the 
reverse of shapely in the fashion of his build : 
for his head was long and bony, and his hip 
bones sharp and protuberant ; his tail was what 
is known among horsemen as a rat-tail, being 
but scantily covered with hair, and his neck was 
even more scantily supplied with a mane, while 
in color he could easily have taken any pre- 
mium put up for homeliness, being an ashen 
roan, mottled with flecks and patches of divers 
hues ; but his legs were flat and corded like a 
racer’s, his neck long and thin as a thorough- 
bred’s, his nostrils large, his ears sharply pointed 
and lively, while the white rings around his eyes 
hinted at a cross, somewhere in his pedigree, 
with Arabian blood. A huge, bony, homely- 
looking horse he was, who drew the deacon and 
Miranda into the village on market days and 
Sundays, with a loose, shambling gait, making 


68 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

altogether an appearance so homely and pecul- 
iar that the smart village chaps riding along in 
their jaunty turn-outs used to chaff the good 
deacon on the character of his steed, and 
satirically challenge him to a brush. The dea- 
con always took their badinage in good part, 
although he inwardly said more than once, “If 
I ever get a good chance, when there ar’n’t too 
many around, I’ll go up to the turn of the road 
beyond the church, and let Jack out on them ; ” 
for Dick had given him a hint of the horse’s 
history, and told him “ he could knock the spots 
out of thirty,” and wickedly urged the deacon 
to take the starch out of them airy chaps some 
of these days. Such was the horse, then, that 
the deacon had ahead of him, and the old- 
fashioned sleigh, when, with the parson along- 
side, he struck into the principal street of the 
village. 

Now, New Year’s Day is a lively day in many 
country villages, and on this bright one espe- 
cially, as the sleighing was perfect, everybody 


DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 69 

was out. Indeed, it had got noised abroad that 
certain trotters of local fame were to be on the 
street that afternoon, and, as the boys worded 
it, “ there would be heaps of fun going on.” 
And so it happened that everybody in town, 
and many who lived out of it, were on this par- 
ticular street, and just at the hour, too, when 
the deacon came to the foot of it, so that the 
walk on either side was lined darkly with lookers- 
on, and the smooth snow-path between the two 
lines looked like a veritable homestretch on a 
race-day. 

Now, when the deacon had reached the 
corner of the main street and turned into it, it 
was at that point where the course terminated 
and the “ brushes ” were ended, and at the 
precise moment when the dozen or twenty 
horses that had just come flying down were 
being pulled up preparatory to returning at a 
slow gait to the customary starting-point at the 
head of the street, a half-mile away, so that 
the old-fashioned sleigh was surrounded by the 


JO DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

light, fancy cutters of the rival racers, and old 
jack was shambling awkwardly along in the 
midst of the high-spirited and smoking nags 
that had just come flying down the stretch. 

“ Hellow, deacon,” shouted one of the boys, 
who was driving a trim-looking bay, and who 
had crossed the line at the ending of the course 
second only to a pacer that could “ speed like a 
streak of lightning,” as the boys said, — “ Hel- 
low, deacon ; ain’t you going to shake out old 
shamble-heels, and show us fellows what speed 
is to-day ? ” And the merry-hearted chap, son 
of the principal lawyer of the place, laughed 
heartily at his challenge, while the other drivers 
looked at the great angular horse that, without 
any check, was walking carelessly along, with 
his head held down, ahead of the old sleigh 
and its churchly occupants. 

“ I don’t know but what I will,” answered the 
deacon, good-naturedly ; “ don’t know but what 
I will, if the parson don’t object, and you won’t 
start off too quick to begin with ; for this is 















DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 7 1 

New Year’s, and a little extra fun won’t hurt 
any of us, I reckon.” 

“Do it, do it; we’ll hold up for you,” an- 
swered a dozen merry voices. “ Do it, deacon : 
it’ll do old shamble-heels good to go a ten-mile- 
an-hour gait for once in his life, and the parson 
needn’t fear of being scandalized by any speed 
you’ll get out of him, either ; ” and the merry 
chaps haw-hawed as men and boys will, when 
every one is jolly and fun flows fast. 

And so, with any amount of good-natured 
chaffing from the drivers of the “ fast ’uns,” and 
from many that lined the road too, — for the 
day gave greater liberty than usual to bantering 
speech, — the speedy ones paced slowly up to 
the head of the street, with old Jack shambling 
demurely in the midst of them. 

But the horse was a knowing old fellow, and 
had “scored” at too many races not to know 
that the “ return ” was to be leisurely taken, 
and, indeed, he was a horse of independence, 
and of too even, perhaps of too sluggish, a 


72 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

temperament, to waste himself in needless 
action ; but he had the right stuff in him, and 
hadn’t forgotten his early training either, for 
when he came to the “ turn,” his head and tail 
came up, his eye brightened, and, with a playful 
movement of his huge body, and without the 
least hint from the deacon, he swung himself 
and the cumbrous old sleigh into line, and 
began to straighten himself for the coming 
brush. 

Now, Jack was, as we have said, a horse of 
huge proportions, and needed “steadying” at 
the start, but the good deacon had no experi- 
ence with the “ ribbons,” and was therefore 
utterly unskilled in the matter of driving ; and 
so it came about that old Jack was so confused 
at the start that he made a most awkward and 
wretched appearance in his effort to get off, 
being all “ mixed up,” as the saying is, — so 
much so that the crowd roared at his ungainly 
efforts, and his flying rivals were twenty rods 
away before he even got started. But at last 


DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 73 

he got his huge body in a straight line, and, 
leaving his miserable shuffle, squared away to 
his work, and, with head and tail up, went off 
at so slashing a gait that it fairly took the dea- 
con’s breath away, and caused the crowd that 
had been hooting him to roar their applause, 
while the parson grabbed the edge of the old 
sleigh with one hand and the rim of his tall 
black hat with the other. 

What a pity, Mr. Longface, that God made 
horses as they are, and gave them such gran- 
deur of appearance when in action, and put 
such an eagle-like spirit between their ribs, so 
that, quitting the plodding motions of the ox, 
they can fly like that noble bird, and come 
sweeping down the course as on wings of the 
wind ! 

It was not my fault, nor the deacon’s, nor the 
parson’s either, please remember, then, that 
awkward, shuffling, homely-looking old Jack 
was thus suddenly transformed, by the royalty 
of blood* of pride, and of speed given him by 


74 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

his Creator, from what he ordinarily was, into 
a magnificent spectacle of energetic velocity. 

With muzzle lifted well up, tail erect, the few 
hairs in it streaming straight behind, one ear 
pricked forward and the other turned sharply 
back, the great horse swept grandly along at a 
pace that was rapidly bringing him even with 
the rear line of the flying group. And yet so 
little was the pace to him that he fairly gam- 
bolled in playfulness as he went slashing along, 
until the deacon verily began to fear that the 
honest old chap would break through all the 
bounds of propriety and send his heels antically 
through his treasured dashboard. Indeed, the 
spectacle that the huge horse presented was so 
magnificent, his action so free, spirited, and 
playful, as he came sweeping onward, that 
cheers and exclamations, such as, “ Good 
heavens ! see the deacon’s old horse! ” “ Look 

at him ! look at him ! ” “ What a stride ! ” etc., 

ran ahead of him, and old Bill Sykes, a trainer 
in his day, but now a hanger-on at the village 


DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 75 

tavern, or that section of it known as the bar, 
wiped his watery eyes with his tremulous fist, 
as he saw Jack come swinging down, and, as he 
swept past with his open gait, powerful stroke, 
and stiffles playing well out, brought his hand 
with a mighty slap against his thigh, and said, 
“ I’ll be blowed if he isn’t a regular old timer ! ” 
It was fortunate for the deacon and the par- 
son that the noise and cheering of the crowd 
drew the attention of the drivers ahead, or there 
would surely have been more than one collision, 
for the old sleigh was of such size and strength, 
the good deacon so unskilled at the reins, and 
Jack, who was adding to his momentum with 
every stride, was going at so determined a pace, 
that, had he struck the rear line, with no gap for 
him to go through, something serious would 
surely have happened. But, as it was, the 
drivers saw the huge horse, with the cumbrous 
old sleigh behind him, bearing down on them 
at such a gait as made their own speed, sharp 
as it was, seem slow, and “pulled out” in time 


76 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

to save themselves ; and so without any mishap 
the big horse and heavy sleigh swept through 
the rear row of racers like an autumn gust 
through a cluster of leaves. 

By this time the deacon had become some- 
what alarmed, for Jack was going nigh to a 
thirty clip, — a frightful pace for an inexperi- 
enced man to ride, — and began to put a 
good strong pressure upon the bit, not doubting 
that old Jack — ordinarily the easiest horse in 
the world to manage — would take the hint 
and immediately slow up. But though the 
huge horse took the hint, it was exactly in 
the opposite manner that the deacon intended 
he should, for he interpreted the little man’s 
steady pull as an intimation that his inexperi- 
enced driver was getting over his flurry and 
beginning to treat him as a big horse ought to be 
treated in a race, and that he could now, having 
got settled to his work, go ahead. And go 
ahead he did. The more the deacon pulled, 
the more the great horse felt himself steadied 


DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 77 

and assisted. And so, the harder the good man 
trigged at the reins, the more powerfully the 
machinery of the big animal ahead of him 
worked, until the deacon got alarmed, and 
began to call upon the horse to stop, crying, 
“Whoa, Jack! whoa, old boy, I say! Whoa, 
will you now, that’s a good fellow ! ” and many 
other coaxing calls, while he pulled away 
steadily at the reins. 

But the horse misunderstood the deacon’s 
calls, as he had his pressure on the reins, for 
the crowd on either side were now yelling, and 
hooting, and swinging their caps, so that the 
deacon’s voice came indistinctly to his ears at 
the best, and he interpreted his calls for him to 
stop as only so many encouragements and 
signals for him to go ahead ; and so, with the 
memory of a hundred races stirring his blood, 
the crowd cheering him to the echo, the steady- 
ing pull and encouraging cries of his driver in 
his ears, and his only rival, the pacer, whirling 
along only a few rods ahead of him, the mon- 


78 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

strous animal, with a desperate plunge that 
half lifted the old sleigh from the snow, let out 
another link, and, with such a burst of speed 
as was never seen in the village before, tore 
along after the pacer at such a terrific pace 
that, within the distance of a dozen lengths, he 
lay lapped upon him, and the two were going 
it nose and nose. 

What is that feeling in human hearts which 
makes us sympathetic with man or animal who 
has unexpectedly developed courage and capa- 
city when engaged in a struggle in which the 
odds are against him ? And why do we enter 
so spiritedly into the contest, and lose ourselves 
in the excitement of the moment ? Is it pride ? 
Is it the comradeship of courage ? Or is it the 
rising of the indomitable in us, that loves noth- 
ing so much as victory, and hates nothing so 
much as defeat ? Be that as it may, no sooner 
was old Jack fairly lapped on the pacer, whose 
driver was urging him along with reins and 
voice alike, and the contest seemed doubtful, 












































































DEACON TURMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 79 

than the spirit of old Adam himself entered 
into the deacon and the parson both, so that, 
carried away by the excitement of the race, 
they fairly forgot themselves, and entered as 
wildly into the contest as two ungodly jockeys. 

“Deacon Tubman!” said the parson, as he 
clutched the rim of his tall hat, against which, 
as the horse tore along, the snow chips were 
pelting in showers, more stoutly, “ Deacon 
Tubman ! do you think the pacer will beat us ? ” 
“ Not if I can help it ! not if I can help it ! ” 
yelled the deacon in reply, as, with something 
like a reinsman’s skill, he instinctively lifted 
Jack to another spurt. “Go it, old boy!” he 
shouted encouragingly. “ Go along with you, 
I say ! ” and the parson, also carried away by 
the whirl of the moment, cried, “ Go along, old 
boy ! Go along with you, I say ! ” 

This was the very thing, and the only thing, that 
huge horse, whose blood was now fairly aflame, 
wanted to rally him for the final effort ; and, in 
response to the encouraging cries of the two 


80 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

behind him, he gathered himself together for 
another burst of speed, and put forth his col- 
lected strength with such tremendous energy 
and suddenness of movement that the little 
deacon, who had risen, and was standing erect 
in the sleigh, fell back into the arms of the 
parson, while the great horse rushed over the 
line a winner by a clear length, amid such 
cheers and roars of laughter as were never 
heard in that village before. 

Nor was the horse any more the object of 
public interest and remark — we may say favor- 
ing remark — than the parson, who suddenly 
found himself the centre of a crowd of his own 
parishioners, many of whom would scarcely be 
expected as participants of such a scene, but 
who, thawed out of their iciness by the genial 
temper of the day, and vastly excited over 
Jack’s contest, thronged upon the good man, 
laughing as heartily as any jolly sinner in the 
crowd. 

So everybody shook hands with the parson 


DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 8 1 


and wished him a Happy New Year, and the 
parson shook hands with everybody and wished 
them all many happy returns ; and everybody 
praised old Jack, and rallied the deacon on his 
driving ; and then everybody went home good- 
natured and happy, laughing and talking about 
the wonderful race, and the change that had 
come over Parson Whitney. 

And as for Parson Whitney himself, the day 
and its fun had taken twenty years from his 
age, and nothing would answer but the deacon 
must go home and eat the New Year’s pudding 
at the parsonage : and he did. And at the 
table they laughed and talked over the funny 
incidents of the day, and joked each other as 
merrily as two boys. Then Parson Whitney 
told some reminiscences of his college days, 
and the scrapes he got into, and a riot between 
town and gown, when he carried the “ Bully’s 
Club ; ” and the deacon responded by narrating 
his experiences with a certain Deacon Jones’s 
watermelon patch when he was a boy, and over 


82 DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 

their tales and their mulled cider they laughed 
till they cried, and roared so lustily at the 
remembered frolics of their youthful days that 
the old parsonage rang, the books on the 
library shelves rattled, and several of the theo- 
logical volumes actually gaped with horror. 

But at last the stories were all told, the jokes 
all cracked, and the laughter all laughed, and 
the little deacon wished the parson good-by, 
and jogged happily homeward ; but more than 
once he laughed to himself, and said, “Bless 
my soul ! I didn’t know the parson had so much 
fun in him.” And long the parson sat by the 
glowing grate after the deacon had left him, 
musing of other days, and the happy, pleasant 
things that were in them ; and many times he 
smiled, and once he laughed outright at some 
remembered folly, for he said, “ What a wild boy 
I was, and yet I meant no wrong ; and the dear 
old days were very happy.” 

Ay, ay ! Parson Whitney, the dear old days 
were very happy, not only to thee, but to all of 


DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY. 83 

us, who, following our sun, have fared west- 
ward so long that the light of the morning 
shows dull through the dim haze of memory. 
But happier than even the old days will be the 
young ones, I ween, when, following still west- 
ward, we suddenly come to the gates of the new 
east and the morning once more ; and there, in 
the dawn of a day which is cloudless and end- 
less, we find our lost youth and its loves, to lose 
them and it no more forever, thank God ! 












































































f 











. 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE: 


THE OLD TRAPPER’S STORY. 


STORY ? Why, yes. If Henry, there, 



Ti will translate it 

And put it in verse, and print as he promised 

To do when it happened. Will he do it? I 
doubt. 

He dislikes to dabble with rhyme and with 
measure. 

Says that good honest prose is the best and 
the sweetest 

If the words be well chosen, short, Saxon, and 
pithy. 

And that making of verse is the business of 


women, 


85 


86 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


Of green boys at school, and of lovers when 
spooning. 

But try him. It may be he will. For a 
lesson 

Is in it, and that makes it worth telling. 

The woods have their secrets and sorrows and 
struggles 

As well as the cities. You can find in the 
woods 

Many things, if you look, beside trees, rocks, 
and mountains. 

Jack Whitcomb he said his name was, though I 
doubted. 

For the name on his bosom, tattooed in 
purple, 

Didn’t point quite that way. But that doesn’t 
matter. 

One name in the woods is as good as another 

If a man answers to it and it’s easily spoken. 

So we called him Jack Whitcomb and asked 
nothing further. 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 87 

Brave ? Why, of course he was brave. Men 
are not cowards. 

Cowards don’t come to the woods. They stay 
in the cities, 

Where policemen are thick and the streets are 
all lighted. 

In the woods men trail with their ears and eyes 
open, 

And sleep when they sleep with their hands on 
their rifles. 

Why ? Well, panthers are plenty and cunning 
and quiet, 

And a man is a fool that goes carelessly stumbling 

Under trees where they crouch, under crags 
where they gather. 

Furthermore, with the saints, now and then 
there are sinners 

That live in the woods ; and some half-breeds are 
wicked, 

And know nothing of law unless taught by a 
bullet. 

I’ve done what I could to teach knaves the 
commandments. 


88 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


Yes. Jack Whitcomb was brave. Brave as the 
bravest. 

His glance was as keen and his mouth was as 
silent 

As a trailer’s should be who looks and who 
listens 

By day and by night, having no one to talk to. 

His finger was quick when it handled the 
trigger, 

And his eye loved the sights as lightning loves 
rivers. 

I’ve seen him stand up when the odds were 
against him. 

Stand up like a man who takes coolly the 
chances. 

That proves he was brave as I understand it. 

One day we were boating on far Mistassinni. 

We were fetching the portage above the great 
rapids, 

Where they whirled, roaring down, freshet full, 
at their whitest, 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 89 

When we saw from a rock that stretched out- 
ward and over 

The wild hissing water as it swept on in thunder, 

A canoe coming down, rolling over and over, 

With a little papoose clinging tight to the 
lashings ; 

And as it lanced by Jack went in like an otter. 

How he did it God knows, but at the foot of 
the rapids, 

Half a mile farther down racing onward, I 
found him 

High and dry on the beach in a faint like a 
woman, 

With the little papoose pulling away at his 
jacket. 

And when he came to, he put child to his 
shoulder, 

Nor stopped till it lay in the arms of its mother. 

We were trailing, Henry and I, trailing and 
trapping 

In the land to the north, where fur was the 
thickest, 


9 o 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


And knaves were as plenty as mink or as otter. 

We took turns at sleeping, and trailed our line 
double 

To keep our own skins, if we didn’t get others. 

It was folly to stay where we were, and we 
knew it, 

For the knaves they got thicker, and soon there 
was shooting 

Going on pretty lively. But we held to the 
business 

And scouted the line once a week like true 
trappers. 

And no accident happened save some holes in 
our jackets, 

And my powder-horn emptied by a vagabond’s 
bullet. 

So we mended our clothing and felt pretty 
lively. 

But the signs pointed one way. Our enemies 
thickened 

Around us each day, and we weren’t quite 
decided 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


91 


To stand in for a fight and settle the mat- 
ter, 

Or pull up our traps and get out of the 
country, 

When it settled itself. And in this way it 
happened. 

We were scouting the lake on the west shore 
one morning, 

To find the knaves’ camp and how many were 
in it, 

When a short space ahead there came of a 
sudden 

A crash as of thunder, and we knew that a 
dozen 

Or twenty placed rifles had burst an ambush- 
ment. 

And then in an instant there sounded another. 

Two sharp, twin reports and the death yells 
that followed 

Told us as we listened where the lead had been 
driven. 


9 2 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


Knew who he was ? Of course. The man was 
Jack Whitcomb. 

Do you think men who live by trapping and 
shooting 

Don’t learn to distinguish the voice of their 
rifles ? 

Jack was trailing the lake to find our encamp- 
ment, 

for far away in the south there had come to his 
cabin 

A rumor that we in the north land were 
holding 

Our line and our furs with a good deal of 
shooting. 

So he left his own traps and came by swift 
trailing 

To give us the help of another good rifle. 

That was just like Jack Whitcomb. If you 
were in trouble 

He was there by your side. You could always 
count on him, 

With finger on trigger and both barrels loaded. 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


93 


So Henry and I both took to our covers 

Right and left of the trail Jack must take in 
retreating. 

We didn’t wait long, for the boy knew his 
business, 

And soon he came backward, loading and run- 
ning, 

Like a man who was busy but wouldn’t be 
hurried 

Beyond his own gait, if he stopped there forever. 

As he passed our two covers I piped him a 
whistle ; 

And he stopped in his tracks, and with low, 
pleasant laughter, 

Stood there in full view coolly capping the 
nipples. 

I have shot on each Gulf, both Southern and 
Northern. 

I have trailed the long trail between either ocean. 

Brave men I have see'n, both in good and in evil, 

But never a braver than the man called Jack 
Whitcomb. 


94 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


Well, why describe it ? Call it scrimmage or 
battle, 

It was done in a minute, or it may be a 
dozen. 

It came like a whirlwind, and we three were 
in it 

As men are in whirlwinds. It came like the 
thunder, 

With a crash and a roar and a long running 
rumble 

Dying down into silence. There were dead and 
some wounded, 

And a few lucky knaves that fled wildly back- 
ward ; 

And Henry and I, when it passed, were left 
standing 

By the body of him whose name was Jack 
Whitcomb, 

Who lay as he fell, when headlong he tum- 
bled, 

His rifle still clinched and both barrels 
smoking. 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


95 


I have seen in my life many wounds made by 
bullets, 

And a good many gashes by spear-points and 
arrows. 

I have learned in my trailing a good many 
simples 

Which have power to keep men from crossing 
the river 

Before the Lord calls with voice that is certain. 

And the wound that we found on Jack Whit- 
comb’s body, 

Though ugly and deep, was not beyond curing. 

We cleansed and we stanched it and fought a 
brave battle 

With death, for his life, and we won. For Jack 
mended. 

We made a canoe and we bore him far south- 
ward. 

A hundred good miles down the river we boated, 

Till we came to his house of huge logs, strongly 
builded, 


9 6 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


Beneath the big pines on the bank of a rapid, 

Which under it flowed its soft rush of brown 
water. 

’Twas a place to bring peace to a heart that was 
troubled, 

If peace might be found this side of the silence 

Which brings peace to all that know sorrow in 
living. 

Yes, we boated him down to his home by the 
rapids. 

His home ? No, rather his house let us 
call it. 

For how can a house be a home with naught 
in it ? 

In house that is home must be love, warm 
and human, 

A voice that is sweet, a heart that is gentle, 

A soul that is true, and beside these a cradle 

That prattles and coos ; and the quick-falling 
patter 

Of little white feet that run hither and thither. 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


97 


To his house, and not to his home, then, we 
brought him, 

For certainly nothing and no one was in it, 

Save himself and a dog, a bed and a table, 

Some chairs, a few books, and a — Picture. 

And this was the story that he told us in dying. 

The man might have lived, beyond doubt, had 
he cared to. 

But he didn’t. No motive, he said. And he 
had none, 

As we felt later on, when he told us his story. 

So he died without word or sign. And in 
silence 

We stood and saw him go forth on his journey 

Without speaking a word, without a hand lifted 

To hold or to stop him, for we did not feel 
certain 

What was wisdom for one who went forth in 
such fashion. 

Perhaps it was best he should go and be over 

With pain, loss and trouble for ever and ever. 

Henry says, it were well we should all of us go 


98 THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 

When life has no aim and no hope ; and no 
doing 

Remains to be done ; and days are but eating 
And drinking and breathing, only these and no 
more. 

But before he went forth he gave me a 

message. 

“ I loved her,” so his story began. Henry, 

You remember the look on his face as he said it, 
As he lay with his eyes fixed fast on the 
' Picture ? 

“ She was strong, and she drew me as life draws 
the young 

And as death draws the old. I could not 
resist her. 

She was vital with force, to attract and to hold. 
She raced me . a race for my life, and she won it. 
I was man, not a boy, and I loved as man loves 
When the forces of life are in him full-flooded 
As rivers in meadows, when they flow to the 
sedges. 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


99 


Did she love me ? Perhaps. Who can tell ? 
She was woman, 

And hence she was dark as the night, and as 
hidden ! 

Who could find her? Who the depth of her 
nature 

Might measure ? I tried but could not. Then 
boldly 

I spake — spake as man speaks but once unto 
woman. 

True and straight did I say it man fashion. 

But she drew back offended ; she shrank from 
my praying, 

And with coldness of tone and suspicion dis- 
missed me. 

Had a man shown a tithe of that look in his 
eye, 

On his face, he or I would have died on the 
instant. 

But what can a man do, when scorned by a 
woman ? 

So I left her. 


IOO 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


I need not say more. My life it was ended. 

It wasn’t worth living ; — I am made in that 
fashion. 

So I came to the woods. Where else when in 
trouble 

Can man go and find what he needs, con- 
solation ? 

Go you down to her house, in the city, John 
Norton, 

To the house where she lives, and give her this 
message. 

Word for word let her hear it, — say where you 
left me. 

There’s gold in that box to pay your ex- 
penses. 

Word for word as I tell you, nor say a word 
further.” 

Then he bade us good-by, and marched away 
bravely, 

As a man on a trail that is somewhat un- 
certain. 

And under the pines on the bank of the rapids 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


IOI 


We buried the man whom the woods called — 
Jack Whitcomb, 

And the picture he loved we placed on his 
bosom. 


I went down to her house in the city. A cabin 

Of stone, brown as tamarack bark, trimmed 
with olive. 

It was high as a pine that stands on a moun- 
tain. 

The door was as wide as the mouth of a 
cavern. 

At the door stood a man rigged up like a 
soldier ; 

His face was as solemn as judgment to sinners ; 

He looked at me some, and I looked him all 
over, 

Then he suddenly bowed like a half-breed with 
manners, 

And told me to enter, and he would call 
Madame. 


102 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


The room was as large as a town house where 
settlers 

Hold meetings to vote themselves office and 
wages. 

The walls were like caves in far Arizona, 

All covered with pictures of houses and battles ; 

Of ships blown onward by gales in mid-ocean ; 

Of children with wings, pretty queer-looking 
creatures ; 

Of men and of women, and some were half- 
naked. 

But the floor was of oak, which gleamed like a 
polish ; 

And with mats thick as moss, and with skins it 
was covered, 

So I felt quite at home, as there I stood 
looking, 

And noting the size and signs of the cabin. 

Then, all of a sudden, there came a soft rustle, 

Like the rustle of leaves when the wind blows 
in autumn. 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


103 


And down the wide stairway across the great 
hall, 

To the door of the room in which I was 
standing, 

Stately and swift, came a woman and entered. 

Tall as the tallest. Made firmly, knit firmly 

Both in form and in limb, but full and well 
rounded ; 

Dark of eye, dark of face, with hair like a raven, 

Like the girls of Nevada, where live the old 
races, 

Whose blood is as fire, and whose skin is of 
olive, 

Whose mouths are as sweet as a fig when it 
ripens. 

Arms bare to the shoulders. Neck and bosom 
uncovered. 

Her gown of white satin gleamed and flowed 
downward 

And round her in folds of soft, creamy white- 
ness. 

No ring on her hand, nor in ear. Not a circle 


io4 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


Of gold round her throat. One armlet of silver, 

And one at her wrist loosely clasped, small and 
slender. 

So she entered and stood, and looked me all over. 

Then slowly she spake. “ Your name, sir, and 
business ? ” 

“ Madame,” I said, “ in the woods men call me 
John Norton ; 

John Norton, the Trapper.” Then I stopped 
mighty sudden, 

For her face it grew white to the lips and the 
chin, 

And she swayed as a tree to the stroke of the 
chopper 

When he sinks his axe in to the heart and it 
totters 

And quivers. So I stopped, stopped quick and 
stood looking. 

Then her dark face it lighted, and she said, 
speaking quickly : 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. IO5 

“John Norton, I know you. I know you are 
honest. 

You live in the woods. You are good. I can 
trust you. 

All men, I have heard, come to you in their 
trouble. 

Have you seen in the North, have you met in 
the woods, 

Has there come to your cabin a man, tall as you, 

Brave as you and as tender ? A man like to 
this ? ” 

And out of her gown, from the folds on her 
bosom, 

She lifted a locket of pearl-colored velvet, 

Touched a spring, and I saw, as the lid of it 
opened, 

The face of the man I and Henry had buried ! 

“John Norton,” she cried, and her eyes burned 
like fever, 

Her hand shook and trembled, her face was as 
marble, 


io6 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


“ Have you seen in the woods man like to this 
picture ? 

Speak quick and speak true as to woman in 
trouble. 

For I did him great wrong, I thought he held 
lightly 

My fair name and fame ; held lightly my 
honor. 

I thought he meant evil, and my heart, filled 
with anger, 

Dismissed him in scorn ; but I learned, I learned 
later, 

He was true, and spake truth and loved me as 
heaven.” 

Then I stood and I looked and held my face 
steady, 

So it gave her no sign of what I was thinking. 

I saw she was honest, and I wished then to 
spare her, 

But my word it was pledged, pledged to him 
in dying, 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. IOJ 

To stand as I stood, face to face with this 
woman, 

In her house, in that room, and give her his 
message. 

Beside, not to know is far worse than the 
knowing 

At times. So I rallied and told her the 
message, 

Word for word, as he charged, the night he lay 
dying 

In his house on the bank above the swift rapids. 

“ Madame,” I said, “ I have seen man like that 
picture, 

Face and form. He was brave as you say. He 
was tender. 

He was true unto death, and he loved you as 
heaven. 

And these are the words that he sent you in 
dying. 

I, a man of the woods, bring you this as last 
message, 


io8 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


From one who now sleeps on the bank of the 
rapids - 

Of that northern river which pours its brown 
water 

To the Lake of St. John from far Mistassinni. 

‘Tell her, John Norton, I loved her. Loved 
her in living, 

With a love that was true, and with same love 
in dying. 

Loved her like a man, like a saint, like a sinner, 

For time now and time ever. That the one 
picture 

She gave me I kept ; — living, dying, and 
after. 

That it lies on the breast of the man that you 
buried ; 

On the breast of the man who living did love 
her, 

And that there it will lie until it shall crumble, 

With heart underneath it, to dust. So tell her, 

And in proof that I tell her the truth, and did 
tell it 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


IO9 


The night when we met, and I told her I loved 
her, 

Give her this, the watch that I wore on the 
evening 

We met, and the evening we parted. Let her 
open 

And see. With her eyes let her see that I 
loved her. 

So say and no more.” 

Thus I spake. Word for word as he told me I 
spake. 

I gave her the watch, and I said no word 
further. 

I had done as I pledged, I had said as he 
charged me, 

So I stopped and stood waiting for word of 
dismissal. 

But she said not a word, nor made she a 
sign. 

The watch she took from me, touched the 
spring and it opened, 


I IO 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


And there, ’twixt the glass and the gold, 
withered and faded, 

Lay a leaf of Red Rose. One leaf, and — no 
more. 

For a moment she stood ; stood, and gazed at 
the leaf, 

Her face grew as white as her gown, and she 
trembled 

And shook like a white swan in dying, then she 
cried, 

“ My God, I have killed him, my lover ! ” 

And down on the floor, on the skins at her feet 

She dropped as one stricken by bullet or 
lightning. 

It was only last month that we two, in trailing, 

Trailed a hundred good miles across to the 
rapids. 

For we wanted to see before going northward 

If evil had come to the grave of our com- 
rade. 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


I I I 


But the grave lay untouched, by beast or by 
human. 

The grass on the mound was well rooted and 
growth ful. 

At the foot of the grave the rose-tree I planted 

Was as high as my head. And the leaves of 
the roses 

Lay as thick as red snow-flakes on the mound 
that was under. 

And we knew that on breast, as he slept, was 
her picture. 

So we felt, as we gazed, it was well with Jack 
Whitcomb. 

But often at night, when alone in my cabin, 

I hear the low murmur of far northern rapids. 

And often I see the great house and its 
splendor, 

And wonder if death has helped the proud 
woman 

To lay off her grief and escape from her 


sorrow, 


I 12 


THE LEAF OF RED ROSE. 


And blazed a line through the dark Valley of 
Shadow, 

And brought her in peace to the edge of the 
clearing, 

Where I know she would see Jack Whitcomb 
stand, waiting. 

So I say it again, and I say it with knowledge, 

That the woods have their sorrows as well as 
the cities, 

And he knows but little of this great northern 
forest 

Who thinks there’s naught in it save trees, 
lakes, and mountains. 



p 

















* 




















X 





* 






















i 
























•» 










I 






















































